


Guilty

by CelticKnot12



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4195587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot12/pseuds/CelticKnot12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen is losing herself in a vortex of guilt that no one can seem to pull her out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty

Karen is sinking into a hole, losing herself in a bottle that she wishes she could dump her memories into rather than her inhibitions. 

It’s been a month since her little “run in” with Wesley, and each day she grows more lost. Foggy and Matt are worried about her; it shows in the new lines on their foreheads. When they ask if she’s okay and smell the alcohol on her breath their voices grow soft and too gentle, and for some reason this irritates her.

She wakes up that morning with a pounding headache and Wesley’s face on the inside of her eyelids. Wheezing with panic, she makes her way to the bathroom and scrubs water on her face furiously. She looks at herself in the mirror—dark circles press her eyes in, making her look hollow. Her lips are white with guilt and fear. Revulsion rises from her stomach and she moves to crouch by the toilet, throwing up, wishing her soul would come out with the bile.

When she’s finished, she brushes her teeth then showers, running the water too warm until her skin turns pink and feels tight. She gets dressed, taking care to look as put together as she can—sometimes, if she tries hard enough, Matt and Foggy think she’s doing alright, and then she can pretend everything is normal. At least until she reads a debrief from one of Nelson and Murdock’s new clients, and they say that they were framed and the gun wasn’t theirs, and suddenly Karen is lost in her mind; her desk becomes that table, the gun is right in front of her, laughing at her, and she throws it into the water where it waits with her fingerprints for the police to find it and lock her away for murder.

She pours the leftover splash from whatever bottle it was last night into her travel mug, then heads to work.

\- - 

Foggy is out, attending some important social event, and work is slow today. Karen opens a new tab to Facebook, types into the search bar, and finds Wesley’s sister. There are still posts of sympathy finding their way onto the page, and Karen reads through every one, stomach sinking lower and lower as she wonders if all the nice things everyone says are true. Was he really a great listener? A good confidant? The favorite uncle?

She doesn’t realize how focused she is until Matt taps on the corner of her desk. She jumps, and a tear splashes onto her cheek. As she wipes it away, she’s glad that Foggy is gone.

“Sorry, I was really zoned out. What do you need?” She clears her throat and pretends that Matt didn’t notice the quiver in her voice.

“I was just wondering if you know where the depositions for the Denton case are.” He pauses, and Karen is annoyed—Matt is observant, and he probably knows that she was crying, that she hates herself, and that she was on Facebook during work hours.

“Yep, I think Foggy had them last; he probably left them on his desk. Or next to the coffee pot. Or in the bathroom.” She jokes feebly. The corner of Matt’s mouth quirks up, and as he thanks her he turns to go look for them. But he hesitates, fingers tapping on the corner of her desk in thought.

“I know we’ve developed a routine, where Foggy and I ask you how you’re doing, and you say you’re fine so we leave you alone, and maybe it feels weird to answer the question for real after doing the same thing for so long, but I’m going to ask again and I want you to know I really mean it. How are you holding up?” His eyes cast off in some random direction and Karen’s eyes fill up all over again. “I know you’re not fine.”

Her throat is clogged with emotion, and she can’t speak. She can’t tell him—how could anyone look at her the same way knowing that she killed a man: a person, with a heart, and blood, and a family who loved him, someone formed by experience and pain? The tears are already flooding her cheeks and she can’t stop them. But Matt can’t see, she assures herself. 

She tries to speak, but all she can manage is a whisper. “I just hate… what we had to do.” Herself. That’s what she really meant. She hated herself.

Matt’s fingers follow their way around the desk until he’s standing next to her, then reach out for her hand, solid, warm, and there, grounded and present. “I’m sorry.” He says. His voice is so heavy, full of responsibility he doesn’t deserve to bear.

A tear betrays her and drips off of her chin and onto his wrist. He kneels down and hugs her close, and suddenly she’s sobbing on his shoulder, unable to control herself. “I killed Wesley.” She squeezes out, mouth pressed into his jacket. She can’t say anything else, but it feels good to say it: to let someone else know the crime she has committed and to condemn herself like she deserves. “I killed Wesley.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair. It sounds like he’s crying too.

When Karen goes home for the evening, she has a plan.


End file.
